I Can't Decide
by Deathangel113
Summary: This should not be happening. He did not know why this was happening. He did not want this. This was just... not what it should be.


_Author's Note: This is my pet project. I believe that it turned out fairly well. The story was inspired by the song by Scissor Sisters._

_I feel the need to point out that this is a psychological story that involves some topics that are considered sensitive as well as the resulting inter-personal and intra-personal conflicts including self-realization. Topics include realization of sexuality and acceptance of death._

_This being said I hope that those who read enjoy; if not, oh well._

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the property of J. K. Rowling. I claim neither ownership nor affiliation.**

**Warnings: Angst, alcohol use, foul language, mild violence, mild sexual references, and mild slash.**

I Can't Decide

Prankster-in chief. That person had returned when the shop re-opened. The men that had been mourning all summer had moved on. At least, that is what he made everyone believe. It was thought that after three months he had accepted that Fred was dead and that he himself was no longer a twin. He had cleaned and restocked the shelves. Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes had returned to the greatness that it had once possessed. His family and friends were made to see what they wanted to see.

At night, when the shop was closing, no one saw him destroy one item. Normally, it was something that Fred had invented. In the shop and at the Burrow no one noticed how he cursed at the portrait of Fred that hung on the wall. No one ever saw the dark circles under his eyes or saw him wander around the flat while everyone else slept.

The only thing that was seen was how hard that he worked. New products filled the shelves as old products faded away. The future was being moved towards rather than he being stuck in the horrible past.

No one ever saw the pale body that was pinned to the wall. A silencing charm kept unwanted ears from hearing what went on in the broom closet. His lips kept his partner silent in the wake of the reckless abandonment that molded them together. No one saw the sly smirk that curved pale lips or felt the unidentifiable emotion that he wasn't sure was lust or disgust. When the broom closet was abandoned he always needed to shower. The scent from the taboo act was horrid.

* * *

The first time he had only made it two stops to the door before he turned and fled. The thought of confrontation made him sick. Several weeks passed. More than once he would pass by the shop during that time. He always walked quickly. The thought of being seen by them was terrifying. At the moment he did not want to have anything to do with the Golden Trio. There was only one person who he wanted to speak to.

The second time he made it to the door. He was about to enter the shop when he was forced to move when someone left the establishment. Instead of trying to enter again he stood in front of the window. Inside he could see a plethora of nonsense items that were genius. What really drew his attention was the sight of one George Weasley giving the portrait of his dead brother a rude gesture. He was quick to leave after that.

The third time that he came to the shop he actually entered. The noise was what he first noted. He could hardly stand it. Rather than leave he ignored his growing headache and explored the shop. No one bothered him. Everyone was enamored by the goods that were up for sale. He paused at the love potions before moving on to the Muggle Tricks. As he was examining a black top hat he heard his name. Within seconds he was gone.

With the fall of the Dark Lord there should not have been much to be concerned about. The need to be constantly aware should no longer have been necessary. The goodness that came with the end of the war was not privy to him or others like him. He had been one of the bad guys. He had been one of the many Death Eaters who had done what the Dark Lord demanded. The list of offenses included kidnapping, torture, murder, the use of the three Unforgivable Curses, destruction of property, and breaking prisoners out of Askaban. Those were only a few crimes to name. He, his mother, and a few others had been granted probation. They were the lucky ones. Everyone else who had been convicted were either imprisoned or executed. Of course being lucky meant very little.

Outrage had sparked within the Wizardry community when it was learned that some of the soldiers in the Dark Lord's army had been granted freedom rather than death. The result was many being forced to hid. That provided little protection though. Many who had lost loved ones hunted down those who had not been sent to Askaban. If it were not for Kingsley's mercy more would have been murdered. The new Minister of Magic had given them protection. The rest were saved as a result.

_I should have died._

Once again he had been allowed to walk the streets. Excursions were never safe though. On more than one occasion he had been struck by a curse. A few times he had been chased out of Diagon Alley. He was always sneered at. The Malfoy name meant nothing anymore.

A few times Potter happened to be around when he was being harassed. The bastard always saved him. He hated it, but the prat didn't care. As far as Potter was concerned he was a person in need. If only Potter was like Weasley and cursed him whenever no one else was looking. That, he could handle. Not this. He didn't need charity.

That may be why he was so puzzled by all of this. He shouldn't have put himself in that situation. This was his fault; his and that ginger's. He wasn't every sure why he had returned to the shop. None of the nick-knacks were anything that he needed. In fact, he hated things like this thanks to the twins. Yet, he had found himself standing once again in front of the Muggle Tricks. That ginger had come up behind him; had snuck up on him.

"See something you like, Malfoy?"

"Useless shite."

That chuckle that he heard sounded false.

"I'll take this."

"Really?"

"Piss off, Weasley."

He had left with the top hat and a sense of being confused. Until that night he would not figure out why. Once he ran into Weasley in the pub though, everything made perfect sense. Weasley had looked terrible and he had told him that much. He had been given a snide remark and then everything went downhill.

That night felt normal. He was Malfoy rather than Malfoy the Death Eater. As much as he tried to figure the reason out he had no clear sense as to why that was. Maybe it was because he was sitting at a private table in a pub and he had not yet been cursed or poisoned. Almost seven months had passed since he had been able to just enjoy a drink. Weasley wasn't the most desirable company. The prat had bought him a shot of Fire Whiskey though, and he decided that his company was better than no company.

After the first shot Weasley went and bought a whole bottle. When he returned to the table there was a challenge in his brown eyes. He had accepted. The next day he would regret the decision. He knew this. At the moment he didn't care and he suspected that Weasley didn't either. Three shots in and Weasley cracked a joke. For some reason he had chuckled. Within seconds they were both laughing. Almost everything felt normal. He was young Lord Malfoy out with his friends. Instead of Blaise and Theo though, he was with George Weasley of all people. At the moment he could hardly bring himself to care. Though he would never admit it, he was happy to have the company. Blaise was off somewhere in France for some family business of his and Theo was busy with the Ministry. Both hardly had time for him anymore. He supposed that Weasley needed the company too. Whenever he saw the bastard he was always working. He wondered when he had last spent time with his family or friends. What Weasley's personal affairs were didn't matter to him though. He could care less.

"You're not going to start blubbering, Malfoy, are you?"

"What makes you say that, Weasley?"

"Looking a bit sad."

"Fuck off."

"Prim and proper Malfoy has quite a mouth. Don't let your father hear you."

George's eyes went wide and then he laughed. He just shook and tried to understand why he had just thrown his drink in Weasley's face.

"Pansy-arsed git. Good thing they didn't send you to Askaban."

He left then. As he passed through the door he thought that he heard Weasley call his name. If that was not his imagination then he convinced himself that it was. At least, he tried until Weasley suddenly apparated in front of him. The prick stumbled before straightening. He looked like he wanted to apologize, but he didn't care. Weasley fell into the brick wall when he shoved him. He felt the curse strike him afterwards. Rather than retaliate he apparated himself home. He was done here.

* * *

Though there was no reason for him to feel so, he felt rather terrible. The reason was not just the previous night's venture or the resulting hangover. Malfoy had been rather pleasant company until he had thrown his drink in his face. The Fire Whiskey had fucking burned his eyes. He had to rinse them out thrice once he returned to the flat. No, his problems came with what he had said. Even in the drunken stupor that he had begun to fall into at the pub, he had realized the lack of sensitivity in his words.

Half stumbling to the bathroom he relieved himself before setting about the usual morning's routine. After a cold shower his head felt a bit better and the stench of alcohol no longer permeated his body. Dry toast and one of his mother's potions made up breakfast. By the time that six o'clock rolled around he felt almost human.

Downstairs he was greeted by Fred. His brother's portrait greeted him with a chipper "Morning". He grunted a response. A smile attempted to pull at his lips, but didn't quite make it. He flicked his wand and the shop lit up. Not long after knocking at the door reminded him that he had not unlocked it.

"Still asleep?"

"Or are you hung over?"

"Just not ready to see your lovely face. I need to prepare myself you know."

Verity laughed and Ron frowned. As the former began readying the cash register he shooed his brother off to the supply closet. The preparation to re-stock the shelves throughout the day would not be finished on its own.

He glanced towards the front. Through the windows he could see the neighboring shops beginning to open one by one. Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes had always been first to open. That had been Fred's idea. Fred had said that as much time as possible was needed to supply their customers with the goods that they deserved. More galleons always existed to be made. The plan worked. Within the first year they were wealthy. Most of the money went home to the Burrow, but the rest was kept and they were more than a little comfortable. Voldemort and the war did little to put a stopper on that. Only when Fred died did everything come to a stop.

"Mister Weasley."

When he looked at Verity he saw that she seemed to only be interested in small conversation.

"Are you-"

"Brilliant. Now time to work. Time is galleons."

"Yes, Mister Weasley."

As he turned away he wondered when he had stopped caring about other's feelings. When had he become cruel like Fred? No... Not like Fred. His brother wouldn't have dismissed Verity. He wasn't Fred though.

The arrival of the first customers of the day took all precedence. A charming smile curved his lips. Following a cheerful greeting he and the others were swept into the world that he and Fred had created. Everything was the clockwork. Jokes brought laughter. Ridiculous noises prompted delighted shrieks.

Every now and then he found himself glancing at the door. Each time the door was closed and he would then look to the windows. When he still saw nothing he would then turn his attention back to his job. He wasn't certain why he was expecting to see Malfoy. It seemed that he had gotten used to the brat hovering around where he wasn't wanted. He was lucky that Malfoy had not shown his face yet. Despite what had happened he might have given the git some ideas after sharing a bottle. He still had yet to figure out why he had even done that in the first place. Sharing a drink with a bloody Malfoy. He must have been more drunk than he thought or maybe he had finally lost it.

"Mister Weasley."

"What do you need?"

"You should go and have your dinner."

A glance at his watch showed that it was indeed time for him to eat.

"Sir?"

"Go eat, Verity. I'm fine."

"But-"

A look silenced her. He watched as she reluctantly left. She would return in thirty minutes with food for him. When it came time to eat Verity was stubborn. On more than one occasion he wondered if his mother had spoken to the poor girl. Of course Verity had always insisted on taking care of he and Fred.

He really wished that she wouldn't. Her efforts had been cute before. Now it was just annoying. Verity was just wasting energy like the rest of them. He had convinced Ron to leave him alone at least. Ron had been a complete bother when he had first hired him. Now he would just have to convince the others. Maybe then he could have some peace. That would be a long time coming though. They seemed convinced that something was wrong with him; that he wasn't happy. He was though. He smiled. He laughed. He still made jokes. He was still George. They just had trouble seeing that now.

"Here you go, Mister Weasley."

Verity was carrying a box from which the scent of hot beef wafted. She looked hopeful.

"I thought that you might like it."

"Verity."

Familiar disappointment began to stain her expression.

"Thanks. I'm really not hungry though."

"Of course."

"Why don't you give it to Ron? He hasn't eaten yet."

She only nodded before going to the stock room. He watched her go and wondered when she would stop trying. After so many times rejection grew tiresome. She looked like she was going to cry this time too. He didn't want that. Tears were useless and he was really tired of seeing them.

"You should be nicer to her."

Ron was frowning at him. Verity had left shortly after closing so he couldn't use her as a distraction.

"She was just worried."

He continued to go through the remaining inventory. The end of the month would be in a little over a week and he needed to know how many gags that he still needed to make.

"You should eat."

"I do."

He didn't have to look at Ron to see the skepticism in his eyes.

"George."

"Don't you have to get home."

"Yeah... Mum wants you home for supper."

"Not tonight. I'll come over Saturday."

"George..."

He could heard the fight leave his voice. It was quiet for a while and then he heard Ron's retreating footsteps.

"Good night."

"Night, Fred."

That hurt. He knew that Ron was talking to the portrait like he always did, but to just ignore him was cruel. There was still time to apologize, but he really didn't feel like he had to. The bell above the door jingled. He left the stock room. Looking out the window he saw no trace of Ron.

"Still a scrawny git isn't he?"

He glanced at Fred's portrait. His twin grinned at him. He waited for another sign that perhaps the portrait was more than just charmed.

"I know I'm good looking, George, but really. You're making me blush."

Fred wasn't there; not the real Fred at least. The thought of burning the painting crossed his mind. He would be happy to be rid of it. Burning his portrait though would not be appropriate though; especially if Fred's twin did it.

* * *

The Leaky Cauldron had appealed to him. It was one of those few places that he could go to without fear of being cursed or chased out. The decent food and spirits were also positive points for the establishment. His father had hated the Leaky Cauldron. He had called it the peasants' hovel. AS far as he was concerned his father was an idiot was who was trapped in his own little world. He was admittedly no better. In the past he had looked down on those who came here. The people generally looked shabby. That had changed some, but many of his views remained the same. Becoming one of these people had helped to develop the different perception.

Sitting in one of the corners, he felt both isolated and included. No one would bother him here because he was not important. He was just another person who had entered the sewer and had emerged filthy. This experience had made him a part of the Leaky Cauldron. He belonged here now. Why would anyone look his way?

His food arrived. The steaming stew prompted a growl from his stomach. He tossed some coins to the owner; Tom he believed his name was. The man had barely stepped away before he attacked his meal. His manners were present, but the ferocity in which he ate was clear. Dipping a piece of bread into the stew, he then chewed on it with a happy sigh. The meal did not meet the standard of food that was served at the manner, but it was delicious. That might also be the hangover affecting his sense of taste. Whether it was truly good food or not was something that he could really care less about.

In a short amount of time he ordered a pint and another serving of the stew. Both were quickly brought over and he paid the dues. As he sipped his drink, he glanced around. The place was becoming a bit busier. A glance at his pocket watch showed that it was almost nine. Most of the shops were beginning to close now. In time this place would become crowded. No one would come to his table, but he would still feel closed in. He would have to leave before then and he would have if that bastard hadn't walked through the door.

_The ginger is early._

During his wanderings through Diagon Alley he had learned that Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes always opened first and closed last. Only the war had put a stopper on that policy. Yet here George was, striding across the room with a smile that he was certain was false. When he glanced again at his pocket watch he saw that he was wrong. More time than he thought had passed during his time of observation. It seemed that today was not an exception to the Weasley's habit.

George took a seat at a table that was not too far away from his own. A few people wandered over to say hello to the Weasley. He watched the ginger interact with those who stood nearby or sat at the table. After talking with Weasley each person left with either a grin or a laugh. The second that they turned their backs though, Weasley's expression would darken and the smile would die on his lips. That was interesting. As he nursed his drink Draco found it very difficult to move his eyes away from the ginger. It was almost like looking at an entirely different person. In a way he supposed that was correct. Weasley had changed. His demeanor prior to the war had now become a mask and he wore it very well, almost as well as he had worn his own mask. He never thought that he would see that from one of the twins. They had both been such honest individuals. Of course, the twins were gone.

Tilting his head back he finished the remainder of his drink in one swallow. He stood up with the intention of leaving the Leaky Cauldron. However, his feet led him to Weasley's table instead of the door. When he was just a few steps away from the table Weasley looked up.

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

"Mind if I join you?"

George stared at him before swinging his arm out in a welcoming gesture. He sat down. Not long after Tom wandered over and Malfoy ordered two pints. Tom was suspicious and looked concerned too, but he could hardly bring himself to care. This was his business only.

He met Weasley's interested stare with his own disinterested one. When Tom returned, he only nodded in response to his companion's muttered gratitude before sipping delicately from his glass. Weasley's gaze turned to one of suspicion and then boredom; the latter matching his current mood. When Weasley had finally given up on staring at him, he glanced intermittently at the ginger. The mask was there. If they were back at Hogwarts he would have called he and Weasley a matching pair. He might even include Theo in the group. The three of them would have proven to be an interesting sight to see together; two Slytherins and one Gryffindor, _Oh my_.

"What are you smirking about, Malfoy?"

"Nothing that concerns you, Weasley."

He was surprised when Weasley dipped his fingertips into his whiskey and then flicked droplets at him. Frowning, he wiped his face with his napkin. Weasley smirked, but that quickly vanished.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?"

"You looked lonely."

"I'm touched by your concern."

"I could care less about you, Weasley. I'm just wondering why a Weasley is lying to everyone."

"So I don't look lonely. I should have-"

He seemed to have caught Weasley off guard. The fact that he had made him a bit proud. Yes, it had taken Weasley a moment to realize what his last statement was, but that did not diminish his victory.

"Fucking arse."

Weasley waved for another drink. This one was stronger he noted. It seemed that Weasley either didn't notice or he didn't care for he downed it in less than five swallows before ordering another. If he kept this up Weasley would have to be carried out of the Leaky Cauldron.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're an idiot, Malfoy."

George chuckled. There was something in Weasley's eyes that made him wonder if he would be punched or cursed. The former seemed more likely.

"You know what I mean, Weasley."

"Enlighten me."

Another drink was finished. This time he ordered another round for the both of them. By the time that Tom cane and went he had finished the remainder of the drink in his hand.

"I've just never seen a Weasley put on an act before. You and your family are stupidly honest."

Nothing was said in response. Draco glanced at him. Weasley was staring into the amber liquid as if it would speak to him if he looked long enough. His gaze was hard.

"You'd be wise not to say anything more about my family, Malfoy."

"That is a lesson you seem incapable of learning yourself."

"Bastard."

The silence returned. It was tense. He was uncomfortable, but he was careful to keep that out of his expression. Weasley wasn't going to see that.

"You need to stop this act."

"Since when are you so caring?"

He made a scoffing noise.

"I don't. You're just too much of an idiot to look ahead. You will hurt that family of yours."

When he looked at Weasley he could almost imagine that the ginger looked odd. He quickly looked away. That look had caused him more discomfort than Weasley's angered silence. He did not like it when he couldn't understand what he was seeing. His father had taught him how to read emotions and that had given him an advantage over his peers, even if his youth did manage to blind him at times. He was looking straight at Weasley and he still couldn't see the emotion that stirred in his eyes. A quick glance revealed that Weasley opening his mouth to speak only to close it.

"Never thought that I would hear you so quiet."

"You could learn a lesson."

He only smirked.

"Fucking Malfoy."

"Bastard Weasley."

"Malfoy."

Before he even looked he recognized the voice of Goyle. His former 'guard' lumbered over to him from across the room. Goyle had seen him with Weasley and he was not happy about it. That knowledge did not require a genius. An unspoken charm caused Goyle to adopt a dazed look and to stop before leaving.

"What was that?"

"Fucking arse. Figured you wouldn't want him over here."

"Not like you to care. Trying to please me, Malfoy?"

Only then did he realize what he had said out loud. A flush threatened to creep up his neck.

"I'm trying to spare myself a headache."

"Of course you are."

"Git."

"Prat."

"Bastard."

They continued to throw insults at each other. However, the malicious edge no longer existed and instead sounded like normal banter.

Weasley emptied his glass. He looked unsteady, but his eyes were clear.

"You're right."

He raised an eyebrow. A Weasley admitting that a Malfoy was right was new. He would have to remember this. Weasley seemed to have realized the significance of what he had said too because he looked disgusted suddenly.

"But you're also wrong."

Weasley motioned for another drink and he stayed silent. He was... curious.

"You need to listen to your own advice."

The glass in Weasley's hand shattered. Weasley hissed in pain, but he couldn't bring himself to care. The bastard had... He had dared to-

* * *

Everything had gone downhill. It was almost surprising. It was surprising. One minute they were were fighting and the next minute-

He had punched Malfoy in the nose. While the bastard was still stunned he had grabbed him before shaking him. No one gave him a second look. Malfoy was a criminal that had escaped justice. He had no friends here. When he finally stopped he was satisfied to see the fear in Malfoy's eyes. His fear was disgusting too. Releasing his shirt he then pushed him to the ground.

"Get the fuck away from me."

Malfoy didn't move. Instead, he just brushed himself off and sat down at the table again. The git even made an effort to act as though he had not just tried to shake the life out of him. The proud bastard. He thought about leaving. For one reason or another though, he did not. Something kept him from moving. With his body's apparent refusal to act on his mind, he settled on ordering another drink and glaring daggers at Malfoy. The blonde looked less than bothered.

By the time that he had finished his drink he was less than happy. In fact he was rather perturbed. Malfoy had donned the cocky smirk that he had worn in Hogwarts. The spoiled brat. Something stirred in his gut that he could not put a name to. Later he would think that he should have realized this for the warning that it was. He had not though. No, he had made the mistake of disregarding the sensation. He had tried to drown it with several more drinks. Malfoy had joined him. His pale face had gained more color. His own anger subsided a fraction. When he had eventually lost count of how much he had drunk he decided that he didn't quite mind Malfoy's company and that Malfoy could love for a time longer. Malfoy could live for a time longer.

When had he begun thinking about killing another human?

That was the last thought that he remembered. When he became aware of himself again he was greeted by the sensation of his head being split open. His first thought was that the cause was a Cruciatus Curse, but that was not the reason. The horrid stench of alcohol was the reason. He held his head in his hands. The shifting of his mattress prompted an unpleasant lurch of his stomach. He was quick to run to the bathroom. Thankfully he made it to the toilet before vomiting. The last thing that he needed was to be cleaning his floors. Several retches later and he felt a little less terrible. He decided that showering might be a good idea. At least he might feel a little more human.

A cold shower did wonders. By the time that he wandered out of the bathroom he was feeling a little less hung over. He rubbed his head vigorously with a towel in effort to dry his red locks. His hair was beginning to get a little too long. He might have to go home and let his mother cut it. She had been bothering him for a while now about his hair.

He was just about to toss his towel aside to his room's corner when something caught his eye. Something was curled up in his bed. His gaze moved to his wand. He had left it on the bedside table. Would he really need it? He wasn't certain of how great a threat this thing was. His wand wasn't needed. Slowly, he crept over to the side of the bed where it was. The sight of pale limbs and blonde hair caused him to blanch.

It wasn't an it. It was a he. The thing was not just a thing, but a Malfoy. He took several steps back. Malfoy was in his bed and Malfoy was naked.

"Fuck."

He backed into the door frame before stumbling through the doorway. Retreating to the kitchen he all but collapsed into one of the chairs.

_Malfoy. Fucking Malfoy._

Holding his head in his hands, he took several shaky breaths.

_How?_

The last thing that he remembered was Malfoy coming to his table and then wanting nothing more than to beat the shite out of him. There had been drinks. How else would Malfoy have gotten through the door?

He hoped... He really hoped that they had not done what he thought they did. When he had woken he had been naked and there was the fact that Malfoy was currently lying naked in his bed.

"Bloody Malfoy."

What had he been thinking? Nothing. He was too drunk to think at all. Never again. He was swearing off alcohol. There was still the matter of Malfoy though. What was he supposed to do with him? He would like nothing more than to toss him out on his arse, but that would involve going near him.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He glanced towards the doorway and nearly fell out of his chair at the sight of the blonde in question. Malfoy stared back at him, looking rather calm. He wasn't certain if he should curse him or throw him out. His gaze drifted down his form. Malfoy had at least put pants on; his pants. He wasn't certain if he liked the feeling of delight that briefly possessed him at the sight. The slight smirk on Malfoy's face told him that he had noticed his attention to his body. He frowned and looked away.

"Why the fuck are you here?"

He should have kept his mouth shut, but the question had been asked.

"I thought that was rather clear, Weasley."

Weasley said nothing more. Draco knew that Weasley did not remember much right now and he honestly did not know much about the prior night either. As such the situation was rather awkward. He leaned against the door frame. Weasley appeared to be uncomfortable under his gaze.

"Hey-"

"Get out. Get the fuck out."

The coolness of his tone frightened him. He did not think that George was capable of such hatred as his voice now suggested. Nodding, he took a few steps back. Weasley may have left his wand in the bedroom, but he did not trust himself to turn his back on the older male. Grabbing the rest of his clothes he then went to the front door. Weasley was still at the kitchen table and he still refused to look at him. Without a word he left.

* * *

Malfoy. Fucking Malfoy. He wished that he could forget everything, but he couldn't without erasing all of his other memories.

To his own annoyance that night's events had returned to him partway through work. Despite his attempts to simply ignore them he could not. Brief touches, too soft for him to have imagined, quiet gasps in his ear, tense longing, and then his name-

He needed to forget. Each brief moment of reflection became more vivid. The resulting feelings of arousal disgusted him. That had been fucking Malfoy. The night had been a complete mistake. He should have been at home drinking instead of at the Leaky Cauldron with Malfoy buying him drinks and likewise. The majority of his pocket money was gone to his own chagrin. He couldn't afford to toss coins away; especially on that bloody git.

It was of some relief to him that he could not have to see Malfoy again. He seemed to have scared the prat off.

"You look like shite, Weasley."

Or higher powers could fuck with him more and throw the bastard at him.

"What the fuck do you want?"

"Language, Weasley. Children are here."

The look that George gave him was enough to cause him to take a step back. George appeared ready to murder him. He could see the internal debate in his eyes, the contemplation over whether or not he should take the wand from behind his ear and curse him to oblivion. When this didn't happen he was admittedly surprised. Of course, George probably didn't want to tarnish the name of his shop. He was certain that he would be given a medal for getting rid of him. He was Draco Malfoy after all.

"Get out."

"Can't."

"Malfoy."

He held up one of the Muggle trick wands.

"I want to purchase this, Weasley."

George looked for Verity. She was helping another customer. Ron was on his break. He growled a curse under his breath. Stepping away from the railing, he walked down the steps to the register. He could feel Malfoy behind him. Thankfully, he was not too close. He could hardly tolerate the fact that Malfoy was even in his shop. Malfoy was lucky that he was a paying customer. That didn't stop him from wanting to turn around, grab him, and toss the prat on his arse out in the street. The next time that Malfoy came here he would. Or he would simply apparate the git to of Scotland's lochs and toss him in. If he was luck old Nessie would take care of Malfoy for him.

The portrait of Fred made him uneasy. The fact that Fred's likeness was currently cursing him and ordering George to toss him out was not the reason. No, it was the solid proof that the twin was gone. He absently handed a couple coins to George before he could say anything.

"Thanks," he said, taking his back and leaving.

George frowned after Draco. His demeanor had changed significantly. The blonde could not get out of the shop fast enough. That was one positive of having the portrait around.

"The git left something."

He glanced at Fred's image. It was point at a white box on the shelf behind him.

"Probably cursed."

That wouldn't surprise him. He performed a quick detection spell that revealed nothing of any concern.

"Might as well open it. Hurry up now."

He glared at the portrait before doing as he was instructed.

"Well isn't that nice. He probably poisoned it."

Fred's image was ignored. He was storming through the shop. Customers quickly scrambled out of his way. In the street he looked around and saw a glimpse of blonde hair. He quickly charged after him.

"Malfoy!"

Draco turned only to find himself pulled into an alley by his color and then pinned against a building. Fear gripped him. George was going to kill him. As he expected no one took a second glance. No one cared.

"What sort of game are you playing, Malfoy?"

"I don't-"

"Don't lie to me, Malfoy. You know what I'm talking about. The fucking cake you git."

For one reason or another he felt the sudden desire to laugh and he did. George's grip on him tightened. He kept telling him to _shut up_, but he couldn't.

George glared at him. Oh yes, he could kill him right now. Malfoy found this whole situation so bloody hilarious. This had to be a joke. It would certainly fit the day. How dare he act like he cared about him or Fred. The bastard probably toasted the death of Fred.

"Shut up."

Malfoy would not. His grip on his shirt tightened. He could get rid of him. All that he had to do was draw his wand and-

That was too good for Malfoy. As much as he wanted to throttle the slimy git he did not want to. The thought of doing so made him feel ill or maybe he had gotten himself too upset. He let him go and took several steps back. Malfoy was insane and he had gotten himself caught up in his game. He had probably done exactly as Malfoy had wanted. No wonder he was laughing.

His sides ached and breathing hurt. He took a few gasping breaths intermixed with lingering chuckles. He had certainly lost it. Draco looked to where George stood. He was slumped against the wall looking very lost.

"Weasley."

"What do you want?"

George sounded broken. Had he done that? He looked completely miserable.

"I don't know."

"You don't fucking know."

And now he was laughing. He covered his eyes with one hand and did his best to keep laughing and not just break down and sob.

"Weasley."

This couldn't be real. He should have killed Malfoy when he had his chance at Hogwarts. The bastard had looked so fucking pathetic though, and he had been warned. He wouldn't murder anyone, even Malfoy, and he couldn't do it now. Looking at the young Malfoy he wondered if maybe he had actually died during the Final Battle. The bloke was certainly pale enough. He could have very well become a ghoul and dug his way out of whatever grave that he had been buried in. He had been warm that night though. Dead or alive the bastard had decided to torture him and to stab and cut until he was just a bloody mess.

"Fucking hell."

* * *

Draco pushed himself up into a sitting position. He glanced at George. The elder male lay naked and he was tangled in his sheets. His hand was under his pillow and he knew that he was clutching his wand. He still didn't trust him. After nearly six months he still thought that he was going to kill him in his sleep.

George couldn't be blamed he supposed. He had not done much in his life to earn the Weasley's trust. Almost every week he was threatened. Of course, he did not shy away from threatening George. Their personalities clashed too much, but worked quite well for a shag. They both had enough passion.

No one knew about their relationship. He would have thought that someone would have guessed by now. George randomly disappearing from work was not normal. Then again, they did enjoy doing their business in the back room and that was where George kept his unofficial workshop. To him it was just another closet.

Did this really count as a relationship? He wasn't certain. Both of them were normally angry. George didn't smile around him. At least, not at first. They were both confused. He was rather certain that George still didn't know whether or not to kill him. Then he was confused about who George was to him. This normally prompted arguments. They fought too much to have a healthy interaction with each other. Sometimes they did just fall. George seemed okay to open up to him. He was a better listener than talker, but a few times he would take a break from George's ranting and talk to him. Surprisingly enough George would listen. This seemed to help them both. They had both become less upset about their own personal tragedies.

Then when they fucked it was just an animalistic desire to fill a lustful need. There was hardly ever any emotion. But then there were times when George would look at him and he felt like he was being seen. Those times they really understood each other and their coupling became far more intimate, more personal.

Afterwards, George was normally angry again. He thought that it lessened each time, but that might very well be his imagination. At some point though, he had become Draco and George was George. Malfoy and Weasley had disappeared. Did that mean something? Were they past the point of expecting one of them to crack?

He couldn't be certain. There might be something. For all that he knew this was just some sick, twisted game. Who knew.


End file.
